


Fat Guys Being Nasty

by orphan_account



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Burping & Farting, Cannibalism, Face-Sitting, Feeding, Force-Feeding, Humiliation, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain, implied vore, some other sex stuff idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22170064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of gay DBD fat kink drabbles, some longer than others. Mind the tags and don't click if you don't like it.Individual chapter descriptions.This is for you kinky freaks out there.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/David King, Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Max Thompson Jr. | The Hillbilly, Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Reader, Herman Carter | The Doctor/Max Thompson Jr. | The Hillbilly, Jeffrey "Jeff" Johansen/Frank Morrison, Kenneth "Jeffrey Hawk" Chase | The Clown/Jake Park
Comments: 63
Kudos: 117





	1. [Trapper x Hillbilly]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Entity starts rewarding killers with plenty of food for doing well in trials. Max starts getting fat and so does Evan.

It’s a strange experience.

Staring down at himself, Max was never given the opportunity to eat more than his own share. His parents had only ever given him enough to survive to the next day, and his lithe physique was a major reason he had been able to get out of his hellish cage in the first page. Sure, he had plenty of freedom once he broke free, what with a pantry and dozens of animals, but everything he had tried to eat tasted nothing like what his parents had gave them. In this way, he regretted what he had done just a little, but he managed to survive on the bloody meat of the farm animals until the Entity had taken him away.

It all started a couple days ago. Or, well, what felt like days. Time was merely an illusion in the realm of the Entity, but Max did not realize this and thus arbitrarily decided on that timeframe. It also did not occur to him that time would be irrelevant in this situation as there was very clearly Entity Magic at work here. You really can’t blame him for this, though. It’s quite an interesting situation, you see… Ah, this narration is getting too cerebral for poor old Max. Let’s stop talking about the meta behind his life and get to the point.

To add to the list of things Max does not know about, good food is something foreign to him. The concept of a kitchen is an enigma, the chemistry behind cooking an even bigger mystery. All he knew was that you can put things in your mouth and eat them. Natural instinct is all that drove him when it came to this topic; whatever his body told him was food was, well, food. 

All this to say that Max barely hesitated to help himself when he awoke alone in Coldwind Farm in front of a banquet of stuff that made his mouth water. He honestly had no idea what most of it was. Neither did the Entity, as anyone else would have been able to tell that there was something incredibly off about the food, but to a man who barely even knew what sugar was supposed to taste like, it was by far the most amazing thing he’d ever had. Decadent cake clogged his throat as he was barely able to pace himself enough to be able to breath between bites. The presumably perfectly cooked chicken grease slid down his gullet in no time flat. Hell, he even ate meat clean off the bone and then the bone itself too.

It was a religious experience. The only reason he had to stop was because he physically couldn’t fit any more into his guts. Letting a series of nauseous burps out, Max fell against the wall and focused on the feeling of being full for the first time in his life. His stomach felt hard as a rock when he ran his hands over his distended middle. It was a simple and animalistic pleasure. As he closed his eyes, he couldn’t help but wonder why this had happened. Why now, and not ever before? The only possible explanation he could fathom was that he had done exceptionally well in the last few trials. Proud of himself, Max sunk away into what could loosely be described as sleep until the Entity summoned him for his next trial.

He had performed as well as usual in it. All four survivors were desperately fighting off the Entity’s claws as they hung from the hooks in the basement. Another job well done. As soon as his bloodlust sated, though, Max remembered what had happened last time he had sacrificed all four of them. His now empty stomach growled loudly as he stared into space. Soon enough, the world fell away and a black void carried him back to the familiarity of his home realm.

Max had no words to describe the euphoria he experienced when he opened his eyes to see the same sight he had last time. A beautiful spread of food greeted him, and he wasted no time in getting as much of it down his throat as possible. Disgusting slurps and vicious chewing sounds filled the still air as Max indulged himself by trying everything he hadn’t gotten around to trying the last time. The rhubarb pie was delightfully bittersweet, while the pizza had a wonderfully salty taste. Though the food itself was incredible, Max also found himself enjoying it for more reasons than that. Something deep down inside of him felt weirdly fulfilled. After all the years of suffering and near starvation he had to endure, finally, he was able to enjoy the same food that he assumed his parents had gotten to enjoy. 

And so it continued. Fueled by this new carnal pleasure, Max did everything he could to please the Entity so that he could continue getting this wonderful reward. He never failed to get sick of it, either, as he was much too simple of a man to want more. After living a life of nothing, what more could he want than this?

He had thought absolutely nothing more about it until one fateful day, in which Max got bored after stuffing him silly and decided to wander over to the Trapper’s territory again. Usually, Evan wasn’t exactly a personable person, but Max somehow wormed his way into the man’s heart. Or, well, whatever’s left of it. Maybe it was his endearingly stupid demeanor that disarmed Evan, or maybe it was something much weirder, but Max somehow found a way to like another human being. Evan wasn’t too mean so it was weirdly enjoyable. It made him feel human, in a way.

Evan just frowns when he sees him, though. “So the Entity tried you too.”

Max just cocks his head at this. Immediately, the first thing that he put together is that this is the first time they’ve met up since this whole food thing started. He also notices another strange piece of information: though admittedly he was never particularly observant, Max is pretty sure that Evan’s overalls are fitting much worse now. As in, they now hug his frame much more tightly around the belly area. He does not put two and two together, though, and instead just accepts that his memory is worse than he thought it was.

“Don’t you get it?” Evan sneers, crossing his arms. When Max just shakes his head no, Evan gives a long sigh and pokes a finger into Max’s distended stomach. It sinks in a good inch or two, which Max watches with the utmost wonder. “It’s making you fat for a reason.”

What a strange experience indeed.

Staring down at himself, Max rubs a hand over his stomach. What used to be a a stretch of muscle and bones is now a ball of blubber hanging from his body. His undersized shirt sits comfortably rolled up at the top of his paunch, perfectly framing his jiggly redneck belly. He earnestly hadn’t realized that he gained weight from eating that much. Hefting his fat up and down with both hands, Max just stares with his mouth open in surprise.

“Oh, I get it now!” Max beams, causing Evan to let out a breath of relief. “The Entity is just making me more like you!” He stands up as straight as he can manage, sticks out his belly, and gives it a slap as if it’s a symbol of pride. It doesn’t stop wobbling for a good couple seconds. Evan, of course, looks mortified by this. All five stages of grief hit him at once as he realizes everything wrong with the situation. The silence is deafening until Evan manages to come up with a plan in his head. There has to be a way to explain how this is in no way a positive thing.

“Max, do you think this is a good thing?” Evan’s voice is slow and tense.

“Yeah! It’s more scary, like you.”

“What? Yes, you’re bigger now, but not in a good way.” Evan can’t help but furrow his brow in frustration. The repeated reminder that he has a bit of a belly is starting to get on his nerves. “Are the survivors really going to be more scared when they see you chasing after them with your gut hanging out?”

“But you--”

“Max!” Evan snaps, though he immediately regrets it, as Max just recoils defensively. To answer his own rhetorical question, he reaches to the clasps of his overalls and undoes them so that the fabric falls to his waist. At the same time, he stops sucking in his stomach, causing his belly to surge forward and jiggle precariously. He has never been one for modesty and he has a point to prove. Max is completely fixated as Evan lets out a sigh and runs a hand over the curve of his rotund gut. “Look at how disgusting this thing is. I’m struggling to keep up with the survivors. I didn’t even notice how bad the damage was until my clothes stopped fitting.”

“But your clothes fit fine?” Max cocks his head again, unsure of what Evan means. He hadn’t noticed any changes in his performance yet, but maybe Evan’s just a lot fatter than he thought. Having a belly never bothered Evan before, though…

“They didn’t fit earlier.” Evan’s shoulders raise and stay tensed up. “The Entity’s doing this to all of us for some reason… It wants something from us. Perhaps something that only humans can produce. It has to be farming us like cattle, fattening us up.”

Max can’t claim he understands, so he doesn’t. He just shakes his head in confusion, which causes Evan to groan in frustration. “But what’s the problem with that? The food is real good and I ain’t gonna complain.”

“Fine, whatever, I tried. Just don’t come complaining if anything bad happens.” Evan huffs like a bratty child. He tries to put his hands on his waist, but when his hands sit on his soft love handles, he gets weirdly self conscious and holds his arms by his sides instead. He glances over his shoulder and sighs. “I don’t want to let myself get any bigger, so help yourself to whatever’s left inside the estate.” He points over to the abandoned building behind him, the place where a billion metal traps lay in wait of purpose.

Max, of course, gasps in surprise. What an amazing surprise! In a moment of joy, Max lunges forward and grabs Evan in a bear hug. They press together tight, Max nuzzling his face into the Trapper’s soft chest. Their bellies press together rather noticeably. Evan just groans in disgust until Max gets the message and hobbles over to his promised gift.

Indeed, a veritable feast is spread across a pair of tables. Max forgets that he had just eaten less than an hour ago and starts shovelling food into his mouth, tearing into meat with an almost feral hunger. He growls in pleasure as he devours every piece of savory, greasy food he can get his deprived hands on. Everything Evan had just said slips out of his mind. Who cares if the Entity wants him to get fatter? Wouldn’t it be worse if he disobeyed the Entity? The thought crosses his mind, but that thought also slips away as he chugs down an unlabeled bottle of sweet liquid.

It’s only when he turns around to face the second table of treats that he stops himself. A pang of pain cripples him. He holds himself up on the edge of the table as his guts start rolling, a sharp pressure deep in his belly. His dirty fingers dig into the softness of his stomach to try to figure out what it is. Maybe he swallowed a fork or something. Can that happen? Max groans in discomfort, tears welling up in his eyes. Eating isn’t supposed to hurt! He feels the hardness under all the flab.

“Max, did you eat too much or something?” Evan says it like a parent scolding a child. Max feels offended by the patronizing tone, but he immediately forgives Evan when he feels Evan’s strong hands on his distended belly. He rubs in circles, soothing Max’s grumbling belly. “How much did you eat? Pace yourself, Max.”

“I’m sorry…” Max leans into Evan’s touch, balancing his back against the edge of the table and pushing his belly forward so that Evan can keep rubbing the entire width of his belly. It feels so good, and maybe Evan even enjoys it? He’s smiling underneath his mask. His rough fingers press into Max’s sides, wrap around to his back, sink down to his soft ass. Max used to be nothing but skin and bones, and yet, now… There’s a lot more cushioning.

Evan snorts, amused. “You know… Maybe I wouldn’t mind seeing you get bigger.”


	2. [Trapper x Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapper protects his love, which is you actually, through unorthodox means.
> 
> Implied vore.

“Mm, soft…” You mutter, resting the side of your head on Evan’s stomach. The gurgles of his busy belly comfort you, his stomach hard at work at digesting his last meal.

“I am not soft.” Evan growls, offended by the suggestion, but he gets distracted by his belly letting out a troubled growl. His rough hands grab at the side of his gut, pained moans escaping his lips.

You scoff to yourself. “You can’t tell me all of these meals aren’t going straight to your gut.” You give a slap to the man’s bulging belly, spurring a bit of contempt from the killer, but he lets out a moan of pleasure when you start rubbing his distended middle.

He stutters a bit, embarrassed by the undeniable fact that he’s gained quite a few pounds over the last while. While he never quite had washboard abs, it was only recently that he had experienced having what some might call a beer gut. The way it bounces as he chases survivors is beginning to become far too noticeable, and he’s having trouble seeing his feet without bending around his gut. “It’s… merely some flab. Completely normal. Regardless, a few pounds won’t keep me from protecting you.”

“Mm, I wasn’t complaining.” You reach your arm around his protruding belly, noting the developing love handles. At this rate, it won’t be long before Evan became capital F fat. “I think the survivors will be very much intimidated when they see your belly, anyway. It’s proof of how many victims you’ve had.”

“Heh.” Evan smiles at this comforting thought, but before he can say anything, his belly lets out another distressed growl and a loud burp erupts from his lips. You laugh a little and push on his gut to spur another, but Evan simply swallows it down instead of burping again. The gurgling doesn’t end, though, and he ends up continuously swallowing down escaping air. He groans for a bit before the pressure starts getting to be too much. He swallows down his breath one last time before releasing a monster of a burp, rattling the air for several impressive seconds. After he’s done, he gives the side of his belly a pat and chuckles. “Excuse me. It seems he’s still fighting a bit.”


	3. [Jeff x Frank]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Via unexplained plot that isn't included, Frank has Jeff caught in a corner and he completely degrades Jeff in the horniest way possible.
> 
> Warnings for slob stuff, gas, kinda just nasty in general. Vaguely noncon?

"Maybe I can shave a few pounds off you.”

Frank lifts Jeff's shirt to reveal his hairy belly. Jeff tries to self consciously suck it in, but Frank growls and gives it a heavy slap anyway. "Look how disgusting you are, fatso. How can anyone like a tub of lard like you?”

Feeling defeated, Jeff lets go of his breath, causing his gut to surge forward onto his lap. The bulk of his flab is a round beer belly. Frank lets out another laugh. "Oh my God, you're huge." Frank runs his hands across the curve of Jeff's gut. A soft gurgle escapes Jeff when Frank gives it another slap. "How much beer and pizza did you guzzle down to get this monster? I can't believe you let yourself get this big, you fat pig."

Frank chuckles as he pulls out a few boxes of pizza. "How about we see how much of a fat slob you really are?" He starts feeding Jeff slices of greasy pizza, and with no choice but to comply, Jeff gobbles down the slices as fast as possible. Frank keeps laughing and rubbing Jeff's expanding belly as he shovels all the pizza into Jeff's throat. Eventually, it's all gone, having entirely disappeared inside the hairy man. Frank shakes Jeff's bloated gut and Jeff lets out a groggy burp. "Wow, I would be impressed if that wasn't so disgusting."

"Now for the chaser." Frank sticks the lip of a two-liter bottle of soda into Jeff's mouth, pouring the carbonated drink into his belly. Jeff's hands grasp at the sides of his bloating belly as the soda floods his tight stomach. Once he finishes, he lets out an ear-splitting belch.

With that done, Frank grabs at Jeff's flabby gut and feels around for the hardness of his filled stomach. "No wonder you got so fat." Frank wobbles the fat up and down until a loud gurgle comes from Jeff's guts. A couple seconds of gas building occurs, but Jeff manages to swallow it down. The gurgling continues, however, and a series of glurps worry both of them. "You better keep it all in there, fatso, or I'm gonna make you eat it again."

Determined not to throw up, Jeff holds his gut and rubs at the hardness of his stomach. He swallows down each burp, scared of more coming up, until he feels a drop in his belly. A few more gurgles and then he feels the gas building again. Instead of burping, though, he feels the gas going out the other end. 

Jeff lets out a long fart and Frank howls with laughter. "You're fucking disgusting! Man, you fucking fatass! I can't believe you can fit all that shit in your big ol' belly. No wonder it looks like you swallowed a beach ball, it's because you probably did!”


	4. [Dwight x David]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David wants to get swole but he's dumb and ends up getting fat. Dwight is complicit and enjoys it.

“Help me get stronger.” David had said to him.

It was a strange request in a strange world. Everyone seemed to exist in some kind of stasis, remaining in a snapshot of how they were when they were first taken, and yet here David was, wanting to change. It was strange indeed, and that’s why Dwight had agreed to help. The only issue was that neither of them had any idea of how to go about this. The Entity seemed to have taken away part of their humanity; food wasn’t necessary, sleep was hardly mandatory. They were immortal in the sense that no material constraints were placed upon them.

There remained, however, one way for a man to get the nutrients required to build mass.

The bloodweb was a strange mechanism of the Entity’s realm. It’s a surreal concept, a metaphysical maze accessed through the mind which results in very palpable gain. It’s as if meditation can conjure flashlights and medkits out of thin air, but of course, the Entity itself was likely giving these out as rewards for participation. Normally, these things had little benefit outside of trials, but one thing in particular struck Dwight as useful to their endeavor. Escape Cakes.

“Open up,” Dwight cooed, leaning into David.

It had become routine. Every time one of them would manage to get a hold of an Escape Cake, they would randeveox away from the others and Dwight would help David fit an entire cake into his stomach. While David always seemed focused on his goal during these moments, Dwight found himself strangely fixated on the feeling. He loved hearing David struggle to get down every last bite, the way he would groan as his belly filled, the intimacy of feeding David with his own hands. The gruff man shed his rough exterior in these moments. He was vulnerable, in progress. Dwight loved it in a possesive way, like it was something to be proud of.

“Aight, I think I’ve had enough, mate.” David lets out a heavy sigh as he leans back against the tree they’ve been sitting at the base of. He rests one of his hands on his distended middle, pressing against the weight of his latest meal. Dwight can’t help but watch as the rough man’s belly rises and falls with each breath. Truth be told, Dwight really doubts that this is helping David in the muscle department at all, but it did prove one thing, and it’s that people can still change in some way.

With his diet solely being cake, David has managed to develop a very noticeable paunch. Where a set of six pack abs used to be is now a proper beer gut. It stretches out the fabric of his white tank top. It jiggles with every step. Dwight is obsessed with it. Even in trials, he takes every opportunity to watch David, to study every curve and every pound of fat that’s accumulated on his toned body. Surely, the others have noticed as well, but nobody’s commented if they have.

David looks down at his belly and gives it a hearty slap, causing it to jiggle quite profusely. “I really need ta lose this fucker, eh?

Dwight snaps back into reality. Having gotten deep into thought about how much he loves David and his new body, he collects himself by staring down at the frosting on his fingers, and then at David’s lips, and then into his eyes. His face suddenly feels like it’s burning. “Lose what?” He plays dumb to hide his cards.

“This, mate.” He lifts up his shirt over the curve of his stomach and reveals his hairy belly in all its naked glory. “I reckon all that cake’s gone to my gut.”

“Oh, uh… I guess so, huh?” Dwight eyes it, maybe a little too much. It doesn’t look too bad, not too radical a difference. Maybe this experiment was a failure and David hates being fat. The mere thought of that makes Dwight’s pulse quicken.

“Oy, ya think I look like that fatass Jeff yet? I’ve always wondered how the smaller killers carried a bloke his size. Maybe he has the right idea, eh?” David chuckles to himself and lowers his shirt back down. “What do ya think? Maybe I should blow up like a pig and see if that little Legion hen can handle pickin’ me up.”

Dwight imagines the scene vividly. A shirtless David runs through the sheltered woods, heavy gut swaying as he moves. His softer face looks back at the petite girl with a bloody knife. The blade sinks into him, forcing him to the ground. He falls on his side, sliding to a stop in the rough dirt. The girl grabs him by the side, her fingers sinking into the softness of David’s love handles, and she tries to hoist him up off the ground, but she can’t do it. David’s heavy gut pins him to the ground.

There’s a heat in Dwight’s pants that infuriates him, drives him wild. Oh, God, does he want that to be a reality. Part of him feels fucked up for wanting it but the rest of him doesn’t care. His hand reaches down, picks up the remaining slice of the cake, and brings it up to David’s mouth. “Come on, last piece. You can do it.”


	5. [Clown x Jake]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Clown is fat and happy and he wants to share that with poor Jake.
> 
> Got inspired and had to write this as quickly as possible last night. This is for Anon. <3

Kenneth, known to most as the Clown, brings the bottle to his lips and doesn’t pull away until every last drop is gone. He swallows hard, enjoying the feeling of alcohol burning his throat, and then he lets out a particularly gassy burp. The stale carbonation of forgotten liquor is far from ideal, but in the Entity’s realm, there isn’t much else to indulge in. Ken runs a hand over the massive girth of his belly. He had started to let himself go a long time ago, far before the Entity took him. There was a time where he had once been a fit young man, athletic and muscular, and now nobody could ever guess he was once on a sport team. Though his weight never gets in the way in trials due to his strong legs, the sensation of his massive stomach wobbling back and forth as he walks is always distracting. Maybe he enjoys it, in a way. Takes pride in it. It’s a symbol of his indulgence and he feels no guilt. After all, he works hard to please the Entity.

Huffing out of boredom, Ken decides to check in on his pet project, so he starts walking over to his caravan. He never used to be this big. His clothes used to fit once. Back in the real world, he merely had a noticeable beer belly. Yes, he was fat, but a proper clown should be fat. It’s funny. Disarming. It’s only been since he found himself in the Entity’s realm that he really started getting huge. He doesn’t need to eat to survive, meaning he never loses weight, but he wants to eat. By proxy, there’s no way to lose calories, so everything he consumes sticks with him. Every drop of alcohol thickens his waist a little more. He hadn’t noticed how much weight he was gaining until his clothes started to strain. It wasn’t long before his shirt couldn’t even button up around the width of his gargantuan stomach. It became part of his character, though. The survivors recognize him by his girth first and foremost.

Ken wipes his hand over his face. The built-up sweat causes his clown makeup to smear. Normally, the Entity fixes his makeup for him as to maintain his appearance for the survivors, but inbetween trials, there’s nothing to fix it with. He stumbles onto the caravan’s front steps, carefully navigating his girth so he doesn’t knock anything over. Before he opens the door, though, he kicks open the chest at his feet and starts piling things into his arms. It’s his stash of gifts from the Entity. All rewards for doing well in his trials, to keep him motivated. While there are some more interesting things like porn tapes, the things he gets the most of (and cares most about) are all the bottles of liquor and old cans of preserved foods.

Before he goes inside, his belly growls and he can’t help but crack open a can of beans with his knife and greedily gobble it down. The taste floods his tongue and disappears in seconds. He eats with such speed that it gets all over his face, sauce coating his chin and dripping down onto the shelf of his belly. To chase the beans, he opens a can of cooked pork, rips chunks off with his fingers, and doesn’t stop until it’s all gone. With that done, he kicks open the door to his caravan and lets out a loud burp.

Jake’s head perks up at the sound. There’s a look of both disgust and fear on his face, but Ken has learned that those two emotions are hardly distinguishable. For example, Jake could either be afraid of the Clown hurting him or he could be disgusted by the Clown’s distended stomach. He could be afraid of becoming like that or disgusted by how much weight he’s already gained.

“How are you, my dear?” Ken says, rather facetiously. He sets his load of cans and bottles down on the counter beside Jake, who is naked and bound to a chair by a lot of rope. The room is filled with the musky scent of old food with a hint of stale sweat. Before they begin today’s session, though, Ken steps close to Jake, the apex of his belly sitting awfully close to Jake’s face. He reaches down and runs a hand over Jake’s softening chest. His fingers dip into the curves of the man’s body, sliding down until he gets to the flabby stomach Jake’s been developing. It sits in his lap like a proper belly now. A mound of disgusting fat hides Jake’s dick from sight. “You’re making great progress” The Clown laughs, which causes Jake to grunt in frustration. It isn’t much of a conversation.

That’s okay, Ken isn’t much of a talker himself anyway. Instead, he picks up a can of beef stew, jams his knife into the lid, and then tips the can to Jake’s lips. He tries to pull away, but Ken holds his head in place as he pours the broth into Jake’s mouth. His only options are to choke or guzzle it down, so before long, the entire can has disappeared. Jake lets out a low burp as Ken prepares the next meal. His stomach rumbles in protest. Even still, Jake’s body hasn’t gotten used to the sensation of being filled close to bursting. He doesn’t have much choice in the matter, though, as it’s only seconds before the Clown starts spooning baked beans into his gullet.

It goes on like this for a while, with the Clown stopping to admire Jake’s body in between cans. He rubs his hands over Jake’s swelling gut and pinches the flab between his fingers. He, of course, also takes breaks to feed his own belly, and they don’t stop until all the food and liquor has disappeared into both of them. While the Clown’s belly is far too huge to be noticeably bloated, Jake’s much more meager fat is very obviously bulging outwards. A hard lump sits at the top of his flabby stomach where all that food is uncomfortably sitting. He groans in discomfort as his body desperately tries to digest everything. The process is very audible, as his digestive system keeps rumbling and gurgling.

The Clown takes a long sip of rum and rubs the top of his own gut a bit. He can feel his erection rub against the bottom of his belly, throbbing and desperate for attention, but Ken refuses to pleasure himself until he can’t take it any longer. Instead, he savors the full feeling. It takes a while to accumulate all the food he needs for a stuffing, so he always tries to prolong the carnal pleasures as long as possible.

“Don’t worry, Jakey. It won’t be long ‘til you look just like me, my little protege.”


	6. [Clown x David]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As suggested: David King is a cocky asshole, so the Clown decides to teach him a lesson. ;)
> 
> This chapter includes: fat guy face-sitting and subsequent farting. This one's pretty nasty, in my humble opinion.
> 
> Parental discretion is advised. Wait, no, don't tell your parents about this, bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, the Clown's whole power is noxious gas, right?
> 
> Also, if anyone has more requests, I'm happy to do 'em! It's been a blast writing these since they ain't what I usually do. Thanks for reading, y'all.

“Oi, fatso! Over here!”

The Clown doesn’t mind the British man’s taunts. No, he rather enjoys them. Out of all the survivors, the man known as David seems to be the funniest. Everyone else is so serious all the time. Understandably so, but it really takes the fun out of everything when nobody can ever take a joke. David, though, is one of the rare few who seems to have a bit of spice.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size? Oh, wait, there ain’t anybody as big as you!” David King clicks his flashlight a couple times, grinning ear to ear all the while. He’s a fair distance away, definitely not in slicing and dicing range just yet, but the trial has been moving a little too quickly for his taste. So, intrigued by David’s rather rambunctious attitude, the Clown lets the girl he was chasing disappear into a nearby building and instead opts to start after David. The British man lets out a hardy laugh as he breaks into a sprint. He may be athletic, but the Clown knows it won’t be long ‘til David’s on the ground, begging for his life.

They run around the perimeter of the Chapel for a good long while, neither of them breaking pace. David glares over his shoulder and grimaces. Clearly, he hadn’t anticipated the possibility of getting outrun by someone quite as rotund as the Clown. To remedy this problem, David takes a sharp turn and throws himself through a hole in the chapel’s side. He vaults through it perfectly, displaying his mastery of moving his body, but his momentum stops dead. He swivels around and snickers to himself as he watches the Clown try to maneuver his large bulk through the opening. He sticks one leg through but then the bulk of his belly gets stuck against the side of the window and he has to suck his gut in to be able to squish it through.

“Why don’t you lose a few kilos, fat ass?” David laughs like it was a good insult. The Clown just chuckles back and plucks a bottle off of his belt. The scent of noxious gas seeps out of it even through the tight cork. The grin on David’s face disappears when he realizes what’s about to happen. Before he can dive out of the way, there’s an explosion-- the shattering of glass, a cacophony of coughs, a hiss as the cloud of chemicals rushes everywhere. The air is filled with a purple haze and David can’t even see a foot in front of him. There’s no choice but to run blindly, but he stumbles and barely manages to catch himself on a cracked pillar. From there, he’s only able to get a single step out of the cloud of gas before a knife digs into his back, only centimeters away from severing his spinal cord.

With a scream, David falls to the ground. The Clown’s boot stomps down on his back, causing his wound to ignite into an unbearable pain. It’s not fatal, not yet, but the cut is deep and debilitating. The less serious nicks and shanks from earlier in the trial weigh him down, make him unable to fight back. He screams and claws desperately at the dirt for something, anything. The Clown rips the blade of his knife out and snickers as he watches the blood start to gush out of the hole left behind. “Get off me!” David manages to choke out, and miraculously, the Clown removes his weight.

“Didn’t anyone teach you your manners, boy?” The Clown taunts him back. It obviously gets under David’s skin immediately, as a tense vein appears on his forehead as he drags his face out of the dirt. In one last surge of strength, David manages to flip himself around onto his back so he can stare up at his assailant. Though, the only thing he can see is the underside of the Clown’s prominent belly, and so he pantomimes throwing up before laughing again. A joker until the very end. It’s a trait the Clown can admire, of course, but that doesn’t stop the frustration building up inside the killer. “What’s so funny, hm?” He prompts, eager to hear David’s very clever answer.

A bit of blood dribbles down onto David’s chin as he spits out his response. “Now I get why there ain’t nothing but crows around here. It’s ‘cause you ate ‘em all!”

The Clown just laughs. David’s jaw sets, clearly anticipating what’s to come. They’ve done it many times: a boot to the head, a searing pain, then nothing. They’re never alive to feel it, but all the survivors know what happens to their corpses once their minds are gone. Amputated fingers of various colors and sizes stick out of the Clown’s pockets. This time, though, David’s end doesn’t come. No, instead, the Clown just takes a step closer and stands over David. 

“You seem to have a bit of a fascination with my belly, huh?” The Clown’s voice is raspy and gritty, a testament to all his hedonistic vices.

“How could I not?” David sneers. “Get some clothes that fit, mate. You’re bloody disgustin’ with that thing hangin’ out.”

The Clown tilts his head to the side as he runs a hand over the curve of his admittedly huge stomach. “That’s not very nice. I’m sensitive about my weight.”

David just rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut the fuck up and get this over with, ya bastard.”

“Oh, but I don’t want our fun to end just yet!” He practically sings the words, which causes him to break into a short coughing fit.

“I’d much rather just die than spend another bloody minute with you.”

“Don’t say that, darling. What if I told you I have a surprise for you?” The Clown reaches his arms around the bulk of his belly to start fidgeting with his belt. This does not escape David’s notice, as he immediately shrinks away and tries to crawl backwards.

“The hell are you doing?!” David barks, but his resistance does nothing to prevent what’s about to happen to him.

The Clown’s pants drop down to his ankles, revealing that he’s been going commando this whole time. David grimaces when he’s greeted with the wonderful sight of the Clown’s semi-erect cock pressing into the flab of his belly. This is definitely not the first time a killer’s gotten rape-y with him before, so David mentally prepares himself for the most disgusting fuck of his life, but yet again he is surprised. Instead of sticking his dick in him, the Clown opts to move over David so he’s standing directly over David’s face. This time, David has to keep himself from actually vomiting. It’s an assault on his senses. There’s nothing he wanted to see less than the Clown’s sagging balls, sweaty perianal folds, and flabby ass. The scent ain’t any better, either. The musk of unwashed man, of sweat and other bodily processes, is overpowering. Not even the lingering neurotoxins in the air can overpower the horrible stench the Clown’s ass gives off. 

As if reading his thoughts, the Clown chuckles and starts lowering himself down, thick thighs supporting his massive weight. David shouts out and tries to struggle away, but the Clown grabs hold of him and keeps him still until David’s face presses into his backside. His ball sack smothers David’s face, pressing against his lips until he’s forced to gasp for air. His tongue meets the hairy and sweaty testicles, which causes his body to convulse. David would have thrown up there and then if there was anything in his stomach to throw up.

David choking on his balls is a wonderful concept, but the Clown has an even better idea. He slides forward on David’s face, this time pressing his full weight onto David so that David’s nose slips in between his cheeks. David’s fists pound against the massive ass, desperately clawing at the fat folds, but the Clown just laughs. His whole body shakes up and down, jiggling profusely as he chuckles to himself. The motion seems to disturb something deep in his guts, though, as his stomach lets out a rather grotesque series of gurgles and rumbles. The Clown groans a bit and rubs the side of his gut until he understands what the pressure means. He’s reminded of how bloated he was before the trial, filled to the brim with beans and alcohol. All that running around must have upset his belly a bit.

No matter. The Clown decides to relieve the pressure a bit by sucking in his gut and tensing his abdominal muscles. At first, the only gas that comes out is a couple hearty burps, but then he feels something push into his lower intestines. A couple seconds later and he lets a massive fart rip. It’s intense enough to cause his fat ass to jiggle a bit, and the relief is so immediate that the Clown momentarily forgets that he’s sitting on top of David. All that gas just went straight into David’s mouth, pouring across his face. David’s screams and coughs are muffled under the Clown’s well insulated bottom. Despite the earlier wounds, the man kicks and struggles. It’s humiliating to him, degrading, repulsive, absolutely torturous, just as the Clown had hoped it would be.

“Ooh, that was a good one.” The Clown moans. Even he’s a little repulsed by the smell of it. That being said, there’s plenty more where that came from, so the Clown presses his fingers into his gut until a couple more farts come out his ass. Whenever his asshole opens up to let out some more gas, he can feel David’s face press deeper into his ace until David’s nose is pressing into the Clown’s anus. The sensation in tandem with his busy belly feels amazing, so the Clown starts to rub circles into his gut as his other hand reaches down to his now fully erect cock. The full feeling starts fading a bit as he releases fart after fart onto David’s face, so he gulps down mouthfuls of air to make sure he’s nice and bloated. 

He becomes so lost in the carnal pleasure of it all that he forgets about David until he comes to a climax and spills cum over his hand. His portly body shakes and quivers as his dick pulses. With one last good rip, the Clown pushes himself up off David and turns around to admire the broken man. He really can’t help but laugh when he looks down and sees a motionless body, eyes wide in terror. There’s a couple faint brown stains around David’s mouth that reveal just how nasty it was for the man. Must have suffocated on the fumes. The Clown hikes his pants back up as high as they will go and he turns around.

That was fun. Too bad there’s still a trial to finish up.


	7. [Clown, David, & Myers]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For HelmetParty~
> 
> Michael's been eating too many stray dogs, and when David comes to piss him off, they drag the Clown into the mix. Who knew fat Mikey would be so damn hot?
> 
> Cannibalism happens in this chapter, if anyone cares.

Heading into the fog in between trials is risky business. For David King, risky and fun tend to go hand in hand, so he’s one of the few who make frequent trips into the killers’ realms. Rummaging through all the junk that’s found in the various vistas is rarely eventful, it’s a miracle to find anything other than burning trash, but it’s the only way they can spruce up their campfire and subsequently their lives. Perhaps the Entity enjoys these voluntary trials, too, as it provides plenty of emotion to feed on without the hassle of formal sacrifice. It’s a win, win, win, really, as the killers often get to have fun too.

That being said, David can’t help but scowl when he stumbles onto the familiar streets of Haddonfield. They can’t exactly control where they end up when they wander into the trees and certain places are definitely preferable to others. Haddonfield happens to be David’s least favorite. As a fit man, he’s more than capable of running a killer around, but this Michael Myers guy is… difficult for him. While Michael Myers isn’t particularly faster or stronger than the other burly killers, he has no presence whatsoever. Gone in the blink of an eye, only to appear right behind you the next second. You can’t beat a killer if they catch you before the game even begins.

David’s hackles are raised the entire time. Honestly, he would rather just slink back into the fog and pray the Entity takes him somewhere less unnerving, but some part of him can’t stand the idea of acting like a coward. That’s more of a Dwight thing, really, and he ain’t no Dwight. So, he lurks down the sidewalk, head craning around in case that stalky motherfucker is around. The flashing police lights illuminate the night with red and blue. The world seems so much darker without the generators to brighten it up…

There’s a howl, like a whining dog, and it makes David stop in his tracks. It came from one of the houses a block or two down. David grits his teeth together as he forces himself to move forward. Strange animals aren’t unknown in the Entity’s realm, but nobody’s seen a dog before, let alone in Haddonfield. This curiosity is enough to spur David into approaching the mysterious house on the corner of the street. He moves as quietly as he can, which is quite a struggle for a man as bulky and loud as David, but luckily none of the floorboards squeak underneath him. The inside of the house is almost pitch black, lit only by the distant lights. The only thing David can hear is his own breathing and an uncomfortable wet sound coming from the other room. Carefully, David creeps forward, sliding along the wall until he gets to the doorway.

As soon as he peeks his head around the corner, a sickening smell hits him like a flying brick. It’s the all too familiar smell of blood and guts, of death and decay. His eyes scan through the shadows, trying to figure out what the source is. Then his gaze lands on the hulking silhouette in the corner. The back of a man. It’s not hard to guess who it is, and frankly, David doesn’t want to know what’s going on here, so he takes a slow step backwards and turns to leave.

Oh, THERE is the squeaky floorboard.

The noise alerts Myers, who twists around in surprise. The Shape’s mask is pulled up to reveal his nose and mouth, the latter of which is stained with blood and viscera. David’s eyes inexplicably fall downwards, and even in the dim lighting, he can tell the Shape has made a habit of animal cruelty. The tall man’s overalls strain around his waist, his belly extended so far out that it’s fair to call it a proper gut. It’s been a while since he’s had a trial with Myers, but now he wishes he could have one soon so he could face the fabled Burger King Myers.

Despite how much he wants to stay and crack a joke, David twists around on his heel and bolts for the exit. Outside of trials, the only way out is to make it to the fog boundary, so he puts his all into sprinting away. Shouldn’t be too hard what with Myers carrying some extra weight. Once he’s a fair way down the street, David twists his upper body around to catch a glimpse behind him, and he’s frankly surprised that Myers has managed to keep up as well as he has. He chases as though nothing is different from the average trial, his masked pulled down with its stoic expression, but it’s obvious that Myers can’t run as fast with a full belly. David has to stop himself from laughing as he watches Myers’ gut sway back and forth as he strides towards his prey. The mechanic jumpsuit he’s wearing is barely containing his new girth. All those calories must have went straight to his stomach.

With each step, the pressure of his prominent paunch causes the zipper of his jumpsuit to slide down a little further. By the time they’re close to the boundary of the realm, Michael’s gut is pretty much hanging out. A treasure trail of hair runs down from his deep belly button down to his nether regions. Getting cocky is never a great idea when it’s a life or death situation, but that’s never stopped David before, so he brings his hand to his mouth and hollers back at the killer. “Lay off the meat, lardass!”

It clearly pisses Michael off, as his free hand clenches tight. David just snickers as he steps off the pavement and feels the grass under his shoes. Just a little further and he can slip away into a new realm. Killers always give up the chase at the boundaries between worlds. They probably feel too much pressure to protect their hunting grounds to continue making chase. That’s why it feels so good to hit that layer of fog, that grey cloud obscuring his vision. The trees climb over him and everything looks like nothing for a second, but soon enough, he finds himself standing before Father Campbell’s Chapel.

Oh, also, Michael’s still there. That’s not good. Must have pissed him off too much.

“What, you wanna eat me too, tubby?” David snarls, a little fed up with this now. Of course it had to be Michael who wanted to fuck with him today. No matter, it’s gonna take more than a fat guy in a mask to take him down. David takes a huff of air in before breaking out into a sprint again. He runs towards the chapel in the distance, hoping that all the windows and rubble will help him make lose this freak. Once he’s almost into the chapel, David looks behind him again and snickers. It seems like Myers is running out of gas, as he’s starting to lag behind more and more. He can hear the man’s heavy breathing all the way from where he’s standing. As if realizing it at the same time, Michael stops, tilts his head, and rubs the top of his distended belly. David chuckles to himself. “Lose a few and try again!”

And then he stops dead in his tracks, running face first into a wall of jello. David rebounds backwards, barely managing to catch himself from falling onto his ass, but he almost wishes he had, as the Clown’s hand wraps around his throat. David’s fingers shoot up and try to pry the Clown’s hand off, but it proves futile very quickly. How ironic. He ran into the Clown’s huge gut while he was making fun of Michael’s pot belly. “Watch where you’re going.” The Clown croaks out before coughing a bit. The killer laughs afterwards, which causes his whole belly to jiggle against David’s front.

To make matters worse, Myers’ heavy arm wraps around David’s chest and tries to pull him away from the Clown, but neither seem to want to let go. David coughs as his throat’s yanked forward. Michael points his knife towards the other killer in a silent attempt to claim his prey, but the Clown just laughs again. They pull closer together, both of their bellies pressing into David. He’s squished in between all their fat as they have a staring contest. It makes David want to throw up, but he’s too busy gagging from the Clown’s choking to focus on his disgust for long. The combined smell of these two serial killers is pretty fucking bad, too.

Frankly, it’s amazing that the two killers haven’t just went feral on each other yet, but neither of them want to be filled with stab holes, so neither of them make the first move. David tries to break the stalemate by kicking out his legs, desperately flailing into either killer, but he can’t seem to get much force behind his muscles with the killer’s holding him still with their bulk. When Michael’s gut lets out a sickly gurgle, though, the Clown just laughs and lowers his knife.

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinking?” The Clown chuckles as he gives the side of his impressive gut a good slap. The Clown’s stomach growls too.

David tries to protest, to scream, “Hell no! Anything but that!” Unfortunately, the Clown still has his fingers clenching David’s windpipe shut, and he can’t do anything but choke as he feels Myers’ gut move away. The blade of his knife replaces the warm sensation of being sandwiched between two bellies. Somehow, David counts himself lucky that his head’s gone fuzzy already. He barely even feels the knife stabs as he drifts off into unconsciousness.

\---------------------------------------------------

Michael lets out a long burp as he leans back against the wall. He runs his blood-stained hand over the curve of his bloated gut. He shouldn’t have indulged in another meal so soon after his last. He’s unimpressed as he sticks a finger into the soft flab of his beer belly. He had never wanted to get so fat. All it does is impede him and make it harder to sneak up on survivors. But when he got the taste of meat again, he couldn’t himself… It felt so good to be full again. It’s just unfortunate that all that food has gone straight to his gut. He wouldn’t have minded so much if he had filled out everywhere else, but having such a prominent belly is…

“Lighten up, Mikey.” The Clown burps as he licks his fingertips clean. 

Michael, of course, just quietly grunts in response. 

“Nothing wrong with having some meat on your bones. Entity’s not gonna let you fall behind in the trials, so live a little, eh?” The Clown laughs as he hefts his own gut up and down. The Clown’s clothes have long since given up on containing all the fat that’s accumulated on his body, so his hairy belly sticks out the same way that Michael’s does. The only difference between them is a hundred pounds or so.


	8. [Legion & Leatherface]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For ArtHistory and Niku.
> 
> Frank and Joey really like food and Bubba is more than happy to help them indulge.
> 
> I am an unstoppable force of horny-ness and I will not stop writing kinky shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me more prompts and I'll do 'em like the whore I am.

It’s rare to find another friendly killer. While all the members of the Legion are mostly still normal, some of the other killers are… Not very nice to be around. Julie got stabbed my Michael once. Not fun. Even after a handful of duds, though, that didn’t stop Frank from trying to talk to the rest of the bunch. That’s how they ended up having frequent get-togethers with the strange man known as Bubba. It didn’t take much to convince the timid guy that they’re not a threat, and as soon as peace was established, Bubba immediately tried to appease them with his odd chili. How he managed to get the ingredients for chilli when the Entity never provided anyone food, Frank has never figured it out, but he’s not gonna complain. Any guy is gonna take free food when offered. Julie and Susie refused to come join them, purportedly because Bubba is, quote, “too weird,” but that didn’t stop Frank and Joey from enjoying a nice dinner every now and then.

When Frank and Joey show up again, Bubba squeals with delight. The strange farm house they step into is strangely hot and muggy, but the smell of chili that’s wafting through the halls is more than distracting. Frank feels his mouth start salivating almost instantly. If there’s one thing he misses about the real world, it’s all the food and booze he’s been missing out on. Bubba’s cooking tastes a little off from the real thing, likely due to the nature of the Entity’s ingredients, but it’s close enough to still be delightful.

Both of the Legion members take a seat beside each other at the dining room table as Bubba fetches a huge vat of his secret recipe chili. The rotund chef smacks a wooden spoon against the side of the pot and grunts happily. Frankly, this is the only time they’ve ever seen Bubba express a positive emotion, so that’s probably why the Entity indulges him. Gotta reward its killers somehow. 

Frank and Joey don’t even have to exchange a word before there’s steaming bowls of chili in front of them, filled right to the brim. Neither of them waste a second and they start shoveling the Southern meal into their mouths as fast as possible. The taste is perfect, warm and soothing while still spicy and flavorful. It’s almost impossible to stop themselves from draining the whole bowl in less than a minute, but thankfully, Bubba keeps pouring them more chili while he eats his own portions.

It isn’t until Joey feels a bead of sweat roll down his face that the boys take a break. Joey leans back in his seat and peels off his jacket, slinging it over the back of the chair. The house is boiling with the kitchen spilling heat everywhere, and in combination with the spicy chili, the heat’s starting to get to him. Before he can start digging back into the food, though, Frank lets out a chuckle and pokes Joey in the side.

“You’re turning into our friend Bubba over there.” Frank snickers as he pats Joey’s distended stomach. Though the black muscle tee he’s wearing may hide the folds of his belly, it’s completely undeniable that a ball of flab sits where Joey’s rock-hard abs used to be. What used to be a six-pack looks like it got replaced by a six-pack of beer.

“What?” Joey sneers back at his friend with an up-turned lip. He runs a hand over his middle, self-consciously sucking his belly in so his chest is puffed out. “Shut the fuck up, dude. You’re more than a fat ass than I am.”

“Fuck off, no way.” Frank lifts up his t-shirt up to his chin to reveal his soft gut. While his stomach is definitely flatter than Joey’s, which is a point of pride for him now, it’s immediately obvious that Frank’s love handles and chest are much flabbier than Joey’s. He’s never particularly cared about having a perfect physique, as his habit of drinking a lot has always kept him with a bit of a pooch to his lower belly, but it’s undeniable that his bloated stomach is looking a lot worse than it usually does. “It’s nothing, dude. Just gotta lose a couple pounds and I’ll look like a fuckin’ Greek god compared to that gut you have.”

Joey sticks his finger into Frank’s beginner belly and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, dude.”

Bubba doesn’t seem to be paying attention to their conversation, as he merely fills their bowls back up and returns to his own meal. Despite having just made fun of each other for gaining weight, the boys start sucking down chili like nothing. Bubba gives them yet another round after that bowl, and only after that do they finally slow down. Joey hikes his shirt up over the top of his belly and gives his gut a slap to the side.

“Fuck, dude. Getting so full.” He groans and leans his head back while he rubs his bloated stomach. His stomach bubbles and groans as it tries to handle all the chili that’s been stuffed into it. Frank, however, just chuckles and punches his own stomach as a show of strength.

“Heh, you can’t even handle a bit of chili? Too hot for you?” Frank slides his bowl towards Bubba with an awful lot of bravado. Bubba complies with the demand, pouring another healthy helping of chili into Frank’s bowl, but he lets out a gassy burp as he moves to do so. Frank laughs at that too, taking it as a prompt to let out his own belch. It’s a long one, rattling through the room for several seconds before he stuffs his face full of chili again.

“Hell no, you’re not beating me.” Joey shakes his head and leans forward in his chair with his gut still hanging out. Bubba gives him another helping too and they both start devouring the meal as fast as they can. In between gulps, though, Joey side-eyes Frank and taunts him. “You think you can call me a fatass and then beat me in an eating competition? No way, Jose. I didn’t get this belly for nothing.”

“Aw, don’t get mad just ‘cuz you’re fat AND a loser!” Frank shouts through a full mouth, causing a bit of spittle to fly out onto the table. 

At this point, Bubba’s standing at their sides with the vat of chili in his arms. Each time one of the boys gets low, he fills them up before they even have to think about it, like an endless bowl of chili. They go at it for a scarily long time until Frank tosses a half-full bowl of chili onto the table and doubles over with a groan.

“Fuck… Cramping up…” He pulls up his shirt again and presses his palm into the curve of his stomach. It feels like a balloon due to how tight his gut is. He tries to burp up some gas to relieve the pressure, but nothing he does gets rid of the throbbing pain of a stomach pushed past its limit. As little as he wants to admit he’s lost, he slams his hand down on the table and lets out a groan of frustration. “You win, Joe.”

“Fuck yeah!” Joey tries to shout, but when he opens his mouth to say it, Bubba forces a spoonful of chili into his mouth. He doesn’t want to throw up on the table, so despite his surprise, he chokes down the mouthful. He can feel the lump travel down his throat and land in his extremely full belly. He presses his hands to the side of his basket-ball sized belly and tests it by pushing it in a little bit. Though it’s tight as hell, his fat middle still squishes easily enough. He sticks his finger into the top of his belly where his distended stomach pushes out the most. It still has a little more room, and looking over at Bubba, there’s still a little more chili left at the bottom of the pot. Despite his gurgling guts telling him not to, he lets Bubba keep spooning in the remaining chili.

“H-hold on, I’m gonna pop…” Joey moans out after another couple dozen spoonfuls of chili. His stomach whines and sloshes, desperately trying to keep all of that chili down. He can feel some of his stomach contents drop further into him, but the full feeling only gets worse. At this point, he looks positively pregnant, with his belly pushing onto his lap properly. Frank’s stopped laughing, instead just watching with amazement.

“Come on, dude, don’t be a fuckin’ chicken!” Frank shouts.

Before Joey can protest again, Bubba shoves another heap of chili against Joey’s lips and he has no choice but to let it slide into his mouth. It takes some chewing and a whole lot of willpower, but eventually, Joey manages to force the mouthful down. It lands in his gut with an intense thud. His stomach lurches a bit with the added weight, but thankfully, a hand to his mouth keeps him from chucking it up.

Bubba squeals happily to signify that the entire vat of chili has officially disappeared into their bellies. The pot slams down on the table with a satisfying clatter, punctuated by Joey letting out a massive burp. He presses his back into the back of his chair as he cradles his bloated gut in his hands. Frank leans over and runs his fingers over the taut curve of Joey’s gut too. “Damn, dude. You really slammed it back.” Frank says with his eyes wide.

“And your boy’s still blasted, even with a Bubba belly.” Joey flexes his arms out to the side, showing off some definition, but it’s almost a comical sight when his giant gut is sticking out of his shirt. He tries to pull his tanktop down over his girth, but it can’t seem to fit over the entire mass of lard and it ends up revealing the stretch of hairy brown skin that is his underbelly. The fabric seems skin-tight, as it clings into Joey’s belly button almost perfectly.

Bubba, upon hearing his name, grunts and gives his own belly a couple slaps. It wobbles back and forth intensely as Bubba throws his apron off. Frank raises an eyebrow as he notices how the buttons on Bubba’s shirt are stretched so incredibly tight that it looks like they're about to blow. It’s an astute observation to make, too, as when Bubba licks the last of the chili off his fingers, he lets out a pleased sigh and his belly drops. The pressure becomes too much for the poor shirt and a couple buttons ping off into oblivion. Bubba’s bear-rug belly lurches forward and he lets out an almost orgasmic sigh. That shirt must have felt like a damn bear trap with how desperately it was holding on to his gut, but now that it’s hanging out freely, Bubba leans back into own chair and idly rubs the ocean of jello.

“Come on, Joe.” Frank takes a deep breath and pushes himself out of his chair. His belly cramps again with the motion, but he manages to stabilize himself on the side of Joey’s chair. “We gotta get going.”

“Hold on, dude.” Joey groans. “I can’t. Let me digest a bit first.”

Frank just smirks as his eyes snap between Joey and Bubba’s ball bellies. While Bubba has had years to pack on the pounds and get a nice head start, the way Joey sits with his gut pinning him down looks identical to the way Bubba’s sitting. He’s a bit sore he lost the eating competition, but at least he can confidently say he isn’t quite a fatass like these two yet.


	9. [Doctor x Hillbilly]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hillbilly starts gaining weight and he doesn't really understand what's happening. Fortunately, the Doctor is here to help! Help him get even fatter, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For s8nbae. Hope ya like it~
> 
> As a reminder, I am 100% open to taking any and all requests that pertain to fat guys. ;)

Max doesn’t really like going to the Doctor’s hospital much. He doesn’t really know what a hospital is really supposed to be like, but if this is what it’s supposed to be like, then he never wants to be in a real one. The lights flicker and buzz, monitors blare static, things are thrown around everywhere. Obviously, he’s used to living in a messy place, but the overwhelming message this place sends him is “you don’t belong here.” 

Why is he willingly going there then?

Well, because there’s something wrong with him, and if there’s one person who will know what to do, it’s the Doctor. It’s his name! So, that’s why he wanders the labyrinth of hallways endlessly. Maybe if he could read the sign, it’d be easier, but, well, he can’t read. He just keeps hobbling along until he finds the Doctor behind a sturdy desk. His eyes are help still by those weird metal things, but Max can still sense the animosity from his gaze.

“Pray tell, for what reason are you mucking around in my facilities?”

Max doesn’t know what to say to this. He hadn’t come up with a good plan yet, even with all that free time he had while wandering around, so he takes a step towards the Doctor’s desk and grabs a handful of skin around his stomach. The flesh around his previously bone-thin waist is soft and jiggly now. It hangs off of him and droops down like a mass of jello. His belly isn’t that big yet, but it’s a stark contrast from his usual anorexic physique. “Something’s wrong with me.” Max says, unsure of his words.

The Doctor swallows hard as he watches Max play with his belly fat. His back straightens up and he rounds the corner of his desk to observe closer. He hums with all the authority in the world, which instills confidence in the ignorant Max. The Doctor pokes his large finger into the softest point of Max’s gut, which sticks out like he swallowed a ball. His finger sinks in easily, and when he gives it a quick jiggle, shock waves ripple throughout it. The Hillbilly lets out a grumble as he brings his hands to the sides of his stomach. 

“Yes, you were right to come to me.” Herman nods and takes a step away to analyze Max’s frame. He’s hunched over with a worried look on his distorted face. “I’m afraid this is a rather serious condition. I believe this is a case of malnourishment. Anorexia, perhaps.”

Max cocks his head and whimpers. “What does that mean? Sounds scary.”

“Scary indeed, but do not fret. Luckily, there is a simple cure.” Herman does his signature laugh as he steps back around his desk and pulls out a few containers from his large desk. He sets them out and gestures to Max, who gasps curiously. The Doctor pries a container open to reveal a calorie-rich white mush. “Several of these a day will get you healthy in no time.”

Max stares at the gunk. He dips a finger into it and sticks it in his mouth. Once he swallows, he lets out a purr of some sort. “Tastes… nice. I’ve had this before. What is it?”

It is, of course, pudding. Straight from the Entity, too. It only makes sense that Max has seen it before, and it also makes sense that Max tried to eat it. That’s probably where he got that little belly from, after all. Everyone else just burns the mush. Herman pats his stomach self-consciously as he thinks back to how he learned that lesson. It doesn’t take much of this stuff to start packing on the pounds. He never quite lost that bit of flab, either, but thankfully, his clothes do a good job at hiding his bit of permanent fat.

“It’s a medicine that I concocted. I added a bit of flavoring, as to make it more palatable.” The Doctor laughs again, as he always does. It’s the only emotion he shows to the outside world, which makes his fixed grin the perfect poker face. “We should begin treatment immediately, if that is okay with you. This is, after all, an illness that only worsens with time.”

Herman’s wording seems to send a jolt of fear through Max, as the boy immediately grabs the container and starts spooning it into his mouth. He takes big and sloppy mouthfuls, swallowing it down diligently. Herman clears his throat and takes the pudding away from him, but not before Max has managed to get half of it down into his belly already. “Not so fast.” Herman chastises him like a parent. “If you eat it too quickly, its effect will be weakened. Here, let me administer it.”

Max pats his stomach eagerly, which causes it to whine hungrily. Herman picks up a spoon from a nearby pile of brass tools and urges Max to take a seat in a nearby chair. Max obliges, and as soon as he’s comfortable, Herman starts shoveling the tasty mush into Max’s eager mouth. Without the need to chew, Max is able to gobble down the rest of the container with ease, and they wordlessly start on the next round. His pace doesn’t seem to slow down until he gets to the bottom of the third, at which point Max groans and clutches at his now bloated belly.

While the bottom of his gut is still soft and jiggly, the top of his belly sticks out prominently now and is firm to the touch. It still glorps and wobbles nicely, as the soft contents of his stomach move easily, but it maintains a nice dome shape now. Herman runs his hand over the taut skin and nods. “Yes, yes, good job, Max. You’re doing wonderfully.”

“Full.” Max moans as he rubs hasty circles into the side of his soft stomach. His stomach makes another growling sound, but this time, it’s telling him to stop. That doesn’t stop him from accepting the next spoonful that Herman brings to his lips. He swallows it down obediently.

“I know it may be uncomfortable, but please understand. If you do not finish the fourth dose, the medicine won’t be effective.” Herman empties yet another jar of the pudding into Max, and by the time it’s all stuffed into his gut, he’s bloated beyond belief. It looks like his stomach will pop if a needle were to poke it. Max licks his lip, content with his full stomach, but the distressed sounds from his belly keep him from eating any more. Herman takes Max by the shoulder and gently helps him up out of his chair. As soon as he takes a single step, a belch rockets out of him. He gives his distended gut a rub as he limps towards the door.

“Do I come again?” Max asks as he stands at the exit. Right after saying that, he burps again, this time a long and wet one.

Herman just chuckles. “Yes, you must come see me daily until you become asymptomatic. Come again at the same time, and please, do not be late.”

Max, of course, does not know what ‘asymptomatic’ means, but he figures the Doctor knows what he’s doing, so he just grumbles something too garbled to understand and heads out the door. Herman hums to himself as he cleans up the small mess they made, but as he’s taking away the empty bottles, he curiously wipes up a glob of pudding with his finger and licks it. It tastes as delicious as he remembers it being. Surely, indulging in a treat for once wouldn’t do much, right?

\----------------

Well, wrong. Maybe just a single serving of pudding wouldn’t have affected his waistline, but after he tried one, he couldn’t stop himself from eating more whenever Max came for his feeding. He didn’t realize how much weight he was gaining until one day he noticed his stomach was pressing up against his heavy coat. The fabric wraps around the curve of his belly, causing his paunch to be perfectly on display to any who look. While his jacket is long enough to still cover his lower belly, pressing into it with his hand reveals just how distended his gut is becoming. He chides himself for being such a pig, especially considering that he’s been through this before, but, well, the body wants what it wants, it seems.

Max, too, has been growing. While the Doctor has only been dealing with a slight, albeit steady, weight gain, Max has positively ballooned up. His stomach had only been a ball of pudge when they first began their sessions, but after weeks of feeding, his gut’s turned into a proper belly. It sticks out maybe half a foot out, hanging down over his belt. It wobbles profusely with each movement he makes. His torn clothes can barely contain his bloated form anymore. His white shirt is bunched up above his bulging belly and his torn jeans are permanently unbuttoned. Now, it isn’t only his middle that’s pudgy. His chest is drooping a bit now, and his face has a soft curve to it. His arms jiggle a bit. Best of all is that his ass fills out those pants much better now.

“Doctor?” Max calls from the door. Herman slams shut his book in surprise, jolting up into a standing position. They don’t even need to converse more than that before they begin. Max fits himself into a chair, his heavy gut spilling out into his lap and pushing up against the narrow armrests, and Herman wastes no time in getting out the pudding. His reserves are running low, unfortunately, but he’s been doing his absolute best to appease the Entity and earn more. Max has not even brought up the possibility of ending his treatment. Perhaps he assumes this is a life-long condition, and frankly, Herman has no intention of correcting his assumption.

“You’re making great progress.” Herman coos, his voice low and gravelly as he runs his   
hand over the girth of Max’s gut. He gives it a slap and marvels at how much bigger it is, how much softer it is, how much his appetite has grown. Now, downing four containers is the bare minimum. Max’s stretched stomach only grows in capacity with each feeding. 

While Herman tries to savor their feeding time as much as he can, Max’s eager belly demands a quick feeding, so he spoons the pudding into Max’s mouth as fast as he swallows it. Before they know it, Max has fit a full six containers into his gut. Satisfied with himself, he lets out a hearty burp and presses his hand over the hardest part of his belly. A bloated stomach hardly even changes his belly’s appearance now, hidden behind dozens and dozens of lard, but he still very much enjoys Herman’s post-treatment belly rubs. His broad hands are gentle on his sensitive tummy. Max leans his head back and groans as Herman presses a finger into the softness.

“But still so much work to be done.” Herman hums and picks up another cup of pudding.


	10. [Doctor x Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herman has been stress-eating due to work a lot lately. He's been gaining a bit of weight recently and it is absolutely sexy. So you two fuck, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For nerdlordollie. As always, I'm open to any prompts~
> 
> One of the first and only times I've ever written a reader type fic before. Hope it's all right lol.  
> This is 100% just smut, no plot or characterization. I just wanna suck the man's dick and that's it! Periodt!

He’s home late again. You were half-dozing on the couch, barely conscious, when you heard him sigh so loudly that you wondered if the whole neighborhood heard it. Herman flops down beside you with a huff and his hand immediately falls to your face. His fingers trace the curve of your jaw as he leans on his fist. You pull yourself up and lean into him, sighing yourself. “Tough day at work?” You ask, though the answer is obvious.

“Yes.” Herman simply replies. There’s a bit of irritation in his voice, as he knows you know it was a pointless question, but his bad mood quickly fades when you run your hands down his meaty chest, fingering the spaces in between his shirt’s buttons as you move across his torso. Your fingers stop at the curve of his stomach, however. It’s immediately obvious that he’s been stress-eating again-- probably got a bunch of fast food on the way home. His belly is bloated, and pretty intensely too. His stomach is rock hard, and as you keep moving your hand down, you press into the flab of his lower gut. Though it’s firm from all the food he packed away, you can feel just how soft he’s getting.

He sighs. “I know what you’re going to say. I’m disappointed in myself, too. Work has just been long and annoying lately.” Perhaps your hand lingered too long on the meat of his stomach. He’s a perceptive one, and not even your hand rubbing his crotch can distract him from the guilt. His broad hand runs over the side of his stomach. He lifts up the bottom of his shirt and touches the taut skin underneath. A ball of flab sits in his lap, which he eyes up ruefully, but before he can chide himself any further, he closes his eyes and lets out a soft groan. Not even the burning sensation in your face can keep you from fulfilling your mission. Operation: Fuck Herman Silly.

You’ve never told him, but maybe he has an inkling; every time he’s come home like this, you get immensely turned on. The little burps he lets out, his shirt clinging to his slowly developing beer belly, the softening of his features. His weight gain was settling on all the right places, filling out his clothes oh so perfectly. There’s no downside, as far as you’re concerned, but Herman himself seems to be less than impressed with his supposed vice. So, that’s why it’s your mission to make him feel good. Herman is logical, rational. He would never be concerned about the worthless pursuit of a model’s body, so surely, his concern is that you won’t enjoy making love to him as much if he gets fatter. 

Oh, how wrong he is.

It’s pretty easy to work his dick into a proper erection. He’s always horny after work, needs to let off some steam, and you really know how to make him hot and bothered. You’re content with slipping your hands into his pants and fondling his cock, but as soon as he stifles a deep burp, something flips in your brain and you need more ASAP. Your muscles twitch as you move closer, slide lower. He wiggles his pants down and frees his boner. The length of his cock throbs as it springs forth, and you waste no time in pleasuring him with your expert tongue. Okay, that sounds super cheesy, but it’s no lie. Your oral game is definitely your strong suit. Attempts at other forms of sex have historically ended in sub par results. Not bad, but he only moans this way when you’re sucking him off.

While usually you just give him a BJ and let him get you off after, this time, you can’t help but want more. Your hands sneak up his thick legs, feel up those thighs to die for, and you keep going. His head is back, clearly lost in the ecstasy of pleasure, but when your fingers graze his bloated gut, his eyes peek open and he stares down at you. He raises a brow, testing you, but a surge of courage (also known as horny-ness) keeps you going. You press into his sides, or rather, his small little love handles. He hasn’t gained that much weight yet, but he’s shown no signs of stopping his late night feasts, so there’s no doubt in your mind that those bulges of fat are gonna keep widening. Then you press into the top of his flabby belly, feel up the ball of his stomach. He stifles another burp as you press into his bloated gut, which makes your toes curl. Fuck. He’s always been hot, but this is next level sexy.

His hands take over yours while you’re rubbing his belly, so you just smirk and return to properly sucking his dick. He groans as he comes closer and closer to orgasming. Though you’re too busy pleasuring him to watch him rub his gut, you savor the sounds of him patting his bloated stomach, with the occasional rumbling burp adding to it. The more he rubs his gut, the more active his stomach gets. The noises make you go even harder, and soon enough, he’s bucking and muttering your name.

You didn’t think you could get this close to an orgasm just from giving your man a blowjob, but when your head bumps against his soft underbelly during a particularly heated movement, you feel your body tense up and shake. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You go down on him one last time as he lets out a surge of cum into your mouth. You can’t keep up with his intense orgasm, some of the semen dribbling out onto the couch cushion, but you genuinely can’t muster up any fucks to give. The moment is too much, too many chemicals rushing into your bloodstream. You’ll clean it up later. As soon as his orgasm is over, you pull away and smile up at him, but he’s not done.

He’s a little rough as he spins you around, but the way he purrs and strokes your hair tells you that he’s just desperate for more of you. His hands feel up your ass, giving your thighs a little caress, but then his dick is pressing up against your opening. You barely even have time to register the cool sensation of lube dripping into you before he’s working his cock inside of you. His thrusts are quick and needy, but as always, he works with precision. His medical expertise allows him to perfectly hit all the right spots with his cock. Okay, not really, but his dick is still amazing, and the way his belly presses against your backside drives you wild. You peer over your shoulder the best you can, and when you catch a glimpse of him rubbing the underside of his bloated stomach, you let out a sharp moan. He hits you deep somewhere and then it’s your turn to orgasm.

He finishes up soon after, depositing his second load inside of you. He wasn’t even wearing a condom, but you don’t give a shit. You’re more than happy to take his seed. The warm feeling that fills you is amazing. Once he catches his breath, he pulls you close to him and you both fall back onto the couch. More cum dribbles onto the blankets, but whatever. You savor all his warmth. Your stomach presses into the curve of his his and your hands dig into the meat of his shoulders. You can feel all his muscle underneath his skin, but those abs are long gone. Even when this bloat goes down, he’s still going to have a nice little pooch. As you two lay together, both still panting, your hand slips across his flabby sides and you feel his thick ass. Still horny, it seems.

“I’m going to lose it.” He says eventually, though there’s no conviction in his words.

“Oh no, you won’t.” You purr in reply. You lean your face up to the side of his head and take in his cologne as you nip at his ear. “You’re not gonna lose a single pound, mister. I love this too much.” You squeeze the softest part of his belly to emphasize your point.

“Whatever you say, darling.” He chuckles. “But we’re going to have to get my suit let out if I put on any more weight.”


	11. [Doctor x Hillbilly] 2!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sexy sequel where Max gets boned up the ass because Herman can't get over how horny he is for how fat Max has gotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The global pandemic may take away my energy and motivation, but it will never take away my horniness.
> 
> The requested smutty sequel to the Billy/Doc piece. :peace:

Herman had not anticipated his experiment with the Hillbilly to be such a smashing success. Perhaps the boy is just desperate for companionship, or perhaps he just genuinely enjoys their little games to the point of religiously following his every instruction, but he has been utterly unable to shake off Max. In fact, they’re sitting across from each other right now. Max has since abandoned his excuse for a shirt in favor of just freely letting his now rather impressive belly hang out. His pants still fit around his thickening legs, but his waist has gotten too wide to be able to button up the old jeans.

“What’re we doin’ today?” Max speaks up, fingers fidgeting. He seems uncomfortable with how long they’ve been sitting. Usually, they get right to the feeding session, but this time, Herman’s taking things… slow. Wants to ease the boy into what he has in store for him. “More medicine?”

“I’m afraid not.” Herman takes a deep breath as he rises from his chair, stepping around his desk with his arms behind his back. “Today, we will be taking some measurements. A physical examination, if you will.” He shuffles through one of the cabinets and withdraws a few medical measurement tools. A caliper for body fat and a measuring tape included, of course. “You’ve made excellent progress, but we need to make sure we’re recording data for future reference.”

Max, as usual, just smiles and nods through the Doctor’s explanation, and he lets out a purr as Herman steps forward and runs his broad hands over Max’s soft gut. He’s wrapping the measuring tape around the expanse of his girth, but the way his fingers stop to squeeze his love handles is far from professional. Even the naive Max can pick up on the vibe. “Lovely,” Herman mutters to himself as he peers at the number on the tape. “40 inches.”

“Is that a lot?” Max asks, subconsciously putting his hand on the top of his belly.

“Indeed it is.” Herman replies as he moves on to measuring other parts of Max. Thick arms, wobbling legs, softening chest. Each time he takes a measurement, he can’t help but take a squeeze. All that lard has settled so perfectly on the previously anorexic body. Oh, how wonderful he looks. Doctor tries his hardest to hide his growing erection, a little embarrassed at just how dirty he’s getting, but this is far from a real medical exam. It’s just the world’s longest foreplay. It’s not like Max is hiding his own excitement well, anyway.

Once he’s taken body fat percentage measurements and jotted the numbers down in his secret little book, Herman turns back over to Max. To his surprise, the man is pawing at his bulging crotch. The bulk of his boner is pressing up tight against his tattered underwear and already taut jeans. Herman’s somehow kept himself from fucking Max so far, but it’s undeniable how badly they both want it. Hell, Max can hardly step outside of the damn hospital before jacking off after their examinations. Herman had to shut off the security system once before because Max insisted on playing with himself in the hallway. 

“Now that the serious stuff is out of the way,” Herman mutters, “how about I show you a new treatment plan I’ve been developing?”

Max bites down on his lip and nods, watching carefully as Herman’s hands reach down to his zipper. He undoes his pants, revealing his underwear, but before he frees either of their cocks, he leans in close to Max’s sides and takes hold of his wrists. That measuring tape from earlier materializes and suddenly it’s tight around his skin. His arms are thrust up and held behind his head. The tape holds his hands together as a makeshift rope as Herman plants a delicate kiss on Max’s neck.

“You’ve done such a great job growing into a pig for me, Max. Always listening to my instructions so diligently. I’m sure we’ve both been waiting for this for so long. Now, I need you to do a couple more things for me.” Herman growls the words into Max’s ears, which makes the smaller man quiver with joy underneath him. Max utters something incoherent but undeniable positive, so Herman brings one of his hands down and gropes at Max’s body. First, he plays with Max’s pliable chest, then he drops down to the protruding curve of his fat gut, then down his leaking boner.

“I need you to turn around for me.” Herman whispers, still holding Max’s arms still. Max, of course, obeys and immediately twists around so that his belly is pressed up against the back of the chair. His hands hit the wall and, with his free hand, Herman peels those tight pants off of Max’s flabby hips. “Good. Now, I want you to relax your muscles. Don’t tense up too much. I’ll be gentle.”

Max bucks and groans as soon as he feels Herman’s lube-coated fingers dig into his virgin ass, but Herman had anticipated this kind of reaction. He doesn’t want Max freaking out, so he slows down and leans in close, his face up against the side of his. As one hand starts working in and out of Max’s hole, the other starts rubbing the side of Max’s sagging gut and playing with all that flab. It wobbles profusely from even the lightest touch, swaying back and forth as it hangs down from Max’s bony frame.

Once Max is suitably prepared, Herman reaches down and frees his own throbbing erection. He lets out a little groan as he gives his cock a stroke. Oh, how much he’s needed this. His body doesn’t let him waste any time before introducing the head of his cock in. There’s a fair amount of resistance, causing Max to moan pathetically, but with an extreme amount of lube and patience, he manages to slowly guide his length inside of Max. The pig immediately starts rubbing his own cock against the chair, his body shaking and twitching before Herman can even start thrusting.

“Max, please refrain from doing that until I tell you. It’s important that you listen to me right now.” Herman puts on a sterner voice and Max immediately obeys. His hips stop shaking, but his body still tenses and twitches desperately. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

Herman starts slowly pushing his cock in and out, making sure to align his cock perfectly each time to hit the right area deep inside of Max. For having never done this before, he’s remarkably easy to fuck. His ass takes a liking to him quickly, and soon enough, he’s grinding his cock hard. Max starts growling with delight as Herman’s meaty cock pounds into his prostate. The force of the thrusts send his entire body wobbling too, his flab slapping against the chair he’s pressed up against each time.

Though he would have liked to go longer, Max can’t keep his body from quickly cumming all over the fabric of the chair, and so Herman quickly buries his cock deep and lets himself cum too. His pent-up semen floods Max’s insides and he doesn’t pull out until he’s finished. Max is panting and moaning all the while as his orgasm shakes his body. No amount of masturbation could have prepared him for this dicking. Herman chuckles to himself as he slips the measuring tape away from Max’s wrists. The man immediately drops his fingers to his soft gut and starts grabbing at his fat rolls. The association between the two, sex and fat, must be rather strong now.

Herman grins. His degree was in psychology, after all.


End file.
